


Tiny Little Problems

by Slynnski



Series: Ramsay Bolton's Tiny Pet [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Domestic Violence, Dominance, F/M, Fear, Macro/Micro, Rough Sex, Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slynnski/pseuds/Slynnski
Summary: You are a tiny human being who lives in the bed chambers of Ramsay Bolton. You are terrified but transfixed by the bastard and his horrendous atrocities. However, as time goes on, you become more confident about your safety until one simple error in judgement leads to you getting caught.





	Tiny Little Problems

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a series of works written exclusively for my dearest friend Decent_Arrow78. All comments on this work are moderated, and nonconstructive hate will not be tolerated.

This might start off sounding like a fairy tale, but don't be fooled. It's not.

Believe it or not, unbeknownst to 98% of the population, there is actually a race of tiny human beings that live among us. Scientifically called _microsapiens_ , this rarely-seen species lives in secret because if they didn't, well, they'd be persecuted. Horribly. The vast majority of them live in clans for protection, but occasionally, there will be a stray loner out in the world. This is the story of y/n, one such lone micro.

* * *

You had lived within the walls of Winterfell as long as you could remember. You had stayed out of The Starks' sight for most of your life until one day the youngest daughter, Arya, who was quicker than a fox, spotted you. You desperately feared for your life, but were immensely relieved to find that the Stark family were a group of gentle people, and you were able to live harmoniously with them for many years. Except for the Greyjoy ward. He typically wasn't very nice, and you hid from him as often as you could.

As time went on, you couldn't imagine life being any different. You were comfortable and blissfully happy. Then, life threw you a curve ball, which it tends to do from time to time.

While the country of Westeros was at war, Winterfell endured a hostile takeover, first by Theon Greyjoy (you knew you didn't like him for a reason), then, Roose Bolton and his bastard son, Ramsay, while being partially burnt down in the process. Miraculously, you survived all of the turmoil, mostly in part to your small stature. Now, your puny little life was filled with problems.

Ramsay Bolton now occupied what was formerly Arya Stark's bed chambers, where you lived. He was worse than 20 Theons put together.

Scurrying throughout the baseboards and walls of the fortress that was Winterfell, you overheard many horrible tales about the Bolton bastard. He hunted women and flayed men for sport. His brutal pack of hounds have eaten people alive numerous times. He has raped, beaten, and defiled multiple women. And, he took pleasure in it all.

You were terrified of him; terrified of the thought of him ever catching you, the things he would do. Common sense would tell you to go live in another part of the castle, but as much as you feared him, you couldn't help but secretly watch his antics from time to time.

On one such occasion, you watched him at length manhandle and fuck one of his lady playthings. None of the Stark men had ever done such a thing; they were too chivalrous and well-mannered. Even so, you normally would never watch such an intimate scene in the first place, but with Ramsay Bolton, you couldn't help yourself.

Was it the strong, steady rhythm with which he thrusted? Was it the sheer size of his length, which would easily tower over you if stood on end? Perhaps it was the horrified way the woman screamed when the bastard slashed and bruised her body. Or the way he tied her up and held her hostage. Or the sight of her gasping for air as he choked her.

Or could it just be the fact that, underneath the leathers and furs and fabric, the monster that was Lord Bolton's son had the most beautiful stature, his skin glistening with perspiration as he rammed into the poor girl harder and faster? 

You listened to his moans and grunts, and watched, transfixed, as he gave one last, final thrust, his rounded ass cheeks clenched tightly as he came all over the back of the girl he had just finished fucking like a dog.

Trembling, you cringed and turned away as the battered, broken woman fought to stand up and put her dresses back on, her body grotesquely purple and red, blood marking her nose and her bottom lip. And Ramsay, pleased with his work, collapsed onto the magnificent bedstead and sighed without a care in the world.

As time went on, you became bolder and unafraid of Ramsay ever noticing your presence. You were sure you had him figured out; knew his patterns and schedules by heart that a quick trek across the room would be unbeknownst to him while he was out hunting or eating or doing his next horrible thing.

Perhaps you became complacent or a little too confident. Or decided to sleep in one day. You're not sure. But all you remember is, late one morning you were walking across the room, sure that Ramsay was out, when you saw his gargantuan boot coming toward you. Maybe you were frozen with fear or just too slow, because before you knew it, everything was dark and you were stuck to the floor like a wine stain. 

Dazed and unaware of where you are or who you were, you tried fruitlessly to move yourself, dimly aware of the pain that was slowly spreading throughout your small body. You were struggling to push yourself up, but you were weak and in too much pain to make any progress. Tears formed in your eyes as you became afraid, afraid of what would end up happening to you. And, all too soon, you heard footsteps approaching once again.

Your face was angled more towards the floor so you could not see what was happening, but the footsteps had stopped, and all was quiet. Your tiny heart throbbed wildly, wondering if you were out of the woods or--

Suddenly the room turned upside down and you felt yourself rising in the air as a giant hand grabbed one of your smashed legs, and you knew in that moment all hope was lost. Dangling dangerously, Ramsay's vast face came into focus, upside down. You tried to close your eyes and pray that this would all go away, that this was all just a terrible dream, when his mouth open and you felt his breath against your body, his voice rumbling loudly in your minuscule eardrums.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

The ice blue eyes were the last thing you saw before you passed out cold from fear...or maybe the rush of blood to your head.


End file.
